


Five Things that Never Happened (Duel Edition)

by executrix



Category: Blakes7
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A version of the Five Things meme limited to the episode "Duel"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things that Never Happened (Duel Edition)

ONE  
The shock of the disappearances left Cally pale and glassy-eyed. Avon went over to Gan and whispered to him, “She must be re-experiencing her multiple traumas of loss and abandonment. Why don’t you see that she has some rest? And perhaps a relaxant.”

Gan shot him a suspicious look, but thought it over and said, “All right.”

As they left the Flight Deck, Jenna half-sat, half-stood at the pilot’s position, grasping the garden hoses, ready to take off in an instant as soon as mobility was restored.

Avon approached Jenna’s chair. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “After the Decima Debacle, I developed some spellware for overriding statis fields. And now that they’re out of the way, you and I can have a full and frank exchange of views about what to do next.”

“And you expect me to go along with a double murder on ship, and abandoning crew members, just to satisfy your greed?”

“No, not at all. We needn’t hurt Gan or Cally if we can give them what they want.” He drew closer. “We can leave Gan in a safe place with a comfortable annuity. We can deposit Cally with the revolutionary garrison of her choice; I daresay my researches on deflector shields would be of some interest to them. And as for the others…they have the same chance I did.” By now he was half-kneeling next to Jenna, his voice soft in her ear, his breath warm against her cheek.

TWO  
{{Typical}} Travis thought, {{Bloody typical}} as he drew the sword from his scabbard and saw it turn rapidly to a cricket bat, then to a blade for a ceiling fan, and then to an ever-droopier leaf from an elephant ear plant.

Somehow he managed to be both among the trees of the dead planet, and in a pavilion draped with rich brocades. In the middle of the pavilion was a large four-poster bed, occupied by Giroc and a breakfast tray bearing a well-gnawed haunch of roast meat and a huge meadhorn. Giroc wore a knee-length Hello Kitty t-shirt, baring her shrunken shanks and the overgrown, claw-like, cerise-painted toenails on her knobbly feet.

{{So that means bloody Blake got the pretty one. It’s always been that way, all the way back to the Academy. He’s always won, not just at games but at life.}}

Giroc waggled a clawlike finger invitingly. “I like ‘em feisty!” she said. “And, if you come up on the blind side, well, I might be whoever you like.”

Travis threw down the elephant-ear leaf and charged at her.

“That’s it, sonny!” Giroc crowed. “Get me, get me!”

THREE

Vila landed with a thump, flat on his arse, a tree root digging into the small of his back.

A lovely woman materialized before him. “My companion is Giroc, The Guardian,” she said solemnly. “I am Sinofar…”

“Page Six of the Sun,” Vila finished. It was the SpaceNipples that decided him; she was kind of peachy, so she might have been The Financial Times.

“Is your coccyx injured?” Sinofar asked as Vila painfully levered himself upright.

“Sorry, just the one, luv, but it’s champion,” Vila said.

Sinofar frowned. “I do not understand the import of your remarks,” she said. “You have been translated here as a companion to Blake, to illustrate a lesson…”

“I get it, I get it!” Vila said, casting himself down on the ground again and pleating the hem of Sinofar’s robe upward. “This episode was brought to you by the Letter B and the Number Seven and the lesson is, ‘Make Love, Not War’!”

She began to explain, but as he nibbled higher and higher, her eyes shut, her lips parted, and her face was suffused with brilliant colors that reminded Vila of his experiments with Shrooms and Soma.

FOUR

Blake felt himself falling, falling, reality torn away as it had been by mind-wipes. But this time he landed only seconds later, at the bottom of a pit. He heard the rustle of leaves as someone--foe? Rescuer? Jumped into the pit after him.

His first thought was that it was a very pretty art student (with more lipliner than Avon, and more eyeliner even than Jenna) who landed on top of him, but the sight of her headgear forced him to recognize that it was a very pretty mutoid.

The mutoid’s needle extruded.

Blake’s needle withdrew.

“Hang about,” he said mildly. “No call for that, is there?”

“I require nourishment,” the mutoid said. “The serum ration available on the pursuit ship has already been consumed. I trapped some of the native flying creatures, but their blood was not suitable.”

Blake paused to consider how often tyrannies had fallen to rebellions by hungry troops, and tingled at the thought of a mutoid mutiny. “Oh, is that all?” he said, in his most honeyed tone. “Help me out of here, and I’ve a sharpened spear just next to this trap here. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, I can hunt down one of the local carnivorous species. After all, I feel a bit peckish myself.”

Half an hour later, the mutoid had tapped a furry creature’s jugular, and Blake got a fire going and had some kebabs on the go. {{Scheherezade}} he thought. {{I wonder if mutoids are still human enough to feel the need for stories?}} “Your name was Kiera,” he invented. “You were very beautiful, very much admired. Shall I tell you more?”

“It means nothing to me. I remember nothing of my past life.”

Later, the mutoid, replete, yawned and stretched out on the ground. “But if, as you say…and as I can fully believe… I was heterosexual, then why did I kiss those girls at the Vizzio Music Awards?” “Kiera” asked.

Blake grinned. If he had to explain “publicity” to her--far less if his writ extended to “postmodernism”--then he had bought himself plenty of time to await rescue.

FIVE  
“You’d better take them away,” Sinofar murmured, pressing the button for Planetary Wash’n’Dry, ready for the primal drama to be replayed. “I rather enjoyed that.” As zephyrs replaced monsoon, she turned to her companion. “What next?”

Giroc grinned, looking eons younger--rather like Eloise at the Plaza, in fact. “Captain Arrrcherrrrr!” she crooned.


End file.
